


to a fault

by FifteenDozenTimes



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Cockblocking, Domesticity, Drunk Texting, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FifteenDozenTimes/pseuds/FifteenDozenTimes
Summary: Ignis' night off takes a frustrating turn.





	to a fault

**Author's Note:**

> Gladnis Week Day 2: OMG So Drunk

The first time Gladio’s phone buzzes, rattling on the bedside table more violently than it has any right to, Ignis jumps. Gladio chuckles a little, low in his chest, muffled by Ignis’ throat under his lips, but his hips keep rolling in the steady rhythm that’s making Ignis want him to get on with it already but also never stop. Gladio nibbles his way up to suck Ignis’ earlobe into his mouth, and Ignis barely notices the second insistent buzz of Gladio’s phone. Gladio’s so _good_ at pushing the rest of the world away until it’s just the two of them, in a way Ignis has never managed to achieve when he tries to relax on his own.

Gladio growls a little when his phone goes off the third time, and at some point Ignis is going to need to _thoroughly_ explore the shiver that sends down his spine. He slides his hands up Gladio’s back, pushing his shirt up, needs more skin, needs _more_. The fourth buzz is the one that breaks their kiss, so Gladio can lean over and get his phone to shove under the pillow.

“If you need to - “

“Shut up,” Gladio says, presses his hips down harder and snaps them forward, grinds against Ignis until the heat coursing through him is all he can think about. Gladio rumbles, one of those grumbling _mmm_ s that seem to come right from the core of him, and finally gets back to working his lips and teeth and tongue over every inch of Ignis’ neck. Ignis throws his head back, giving Gladio all the space he needs, gets his legs up around Gladio’s waist, and starts to give some very serious thought to letting Gladio make him come in his pants.

The phone under the pillow vibrates, just strong enough for Ignis to feel a light buzzing against the back of his head, and again, and again, just enough sensation that’s just weird enough to pull Ignis back from the edge again, and again.

“Gladio,” Ignis pants, “put it somewhere else.”

Gladio picks his head up, grinning his idiot grin. “Sweet talker. Can you reach the lube or do I have to let you go?”

“The - not _that_ , you idiot, the phone. Turn it off or put it somewhere else.”

“Right,” he says, “but then - “

“Yes, yes, of course,” Ignis says, as if he truly believes he’ll last long enough to get Gladio inside him.

Across the room, Ignis’ phone goes off, the insistent, obnoxious chiming ringtone he uses for Noctis muffled in his briefcase but still too loud. Gladio sighs, loud and exaggerated and so very long-suffering, but rolls off Ignis without further complaint when Ignis drops his legs.

“He wouldn’t call unless - “

“I know,” Gladio says, low and rough and just a little petulant. “Go on.”

Ignis shuffles awkwardly across the room, pants entirely too tight and dick entirely too hard; focuses on pushing all the sex and annoyance out of his voice, and finally answers.

“Are you alright?”

“That’s how you answer your phone?” Noctis is speaking even more slowly than usual, just a little bit slurred. At least he's just drunk, not injured or in danger.

“Noct.”

“So Prom and I might’ve snuck out so we could go out without bodyguards?”

“And you _might_ have run into the sort of situation that bodyguards could have prevented?”

“Reporters, who didn’t look like they noticed me but a photographer showed up a little later, I think they called him. And, like, I don’t care, but Prompto’s such a mess when he drinks and he doesn’t need that shit.”

Ignis closes his eyes and silently counts to five, shutting down his warring impulses to compliment Noctis for his consideration or to pointing out he wouldn’t _need_ to be considerate if he thought ahead a little. 

“And you couldn’t call for a Crownsguard escort, because - “

“They’d tell my Dad.” 

And King Regis would double or triple Noct’s security detail, and he’d go warping out his window twice or thrice as often just to prove he could. Ignis does an extremely admirable job of not cursing aloud about not being able to get out of driving downtown and spending the next hour or so with a pair of giggly drunks instead of Gladio; it must show on his face anyway, because Gladio chuckles at him.

“I’m on my way. Send me a map and if you’re not waiting on the curb for me I’m driving away.”

“You’re the _best_ ,” Noct says, with approximately ten times the enthusiasm he’s capable of sober. Ignis thinks he hears Prompto slurring a too-loud _tell Iggy I love him_ in the background, but he hangs up before he can confirm. He’ll hear it a minimum of six times once he’s picked them up, anyway. 

“He’s been - “

“Yeah,” Gladio says, and holds his phone up. “That’s who’s been texting me.”

Ignis takes a couple long strides forward, close enough to read the mess of _OMG so drunk_ and _com partyyyy_ scattered among several photos of the two of them at various stages of red-faced delight. He doesn’t get close enough to be tempted to just stay between Gladio’s legs and let them fend for themselves, because he’s a responsible adult.

“It should only take an hour, if you want to stay, but I understand if you’d rather go home.”

“Nah,” Gladio says, smirks up at him, “I’m a patient guy.”

Ignis rolls his eyes, knowing full well that if anyone could see through that flimsy cover of his relief at knowing he won’t come back to an empty bed, it’s Gladio; knowing full well Gladio will maintain the fiction of not seeing anything but what Ignis wants to show him.

*

Noctis curls himself up into what cannot possibly be a comfortable position as soon as he gets in the car, feet up on the dashboard, knees bent, butt nearly hanging off the edge of the seat. Prompto’s leaning his head out the back window like an excitable dog, letting the fresh air cool his cheeks and dry the sweat from his hair.

If Ignis were better at the job most people think he has, he’d be lecturing Noct about safety, responsibility, how his actions reflect on the monarchy as a whole and how he must never behave like a normal teenager because of it. But Ignis is good at the job he really has, the one where he’s known Noctis since they were children and knows how important it is that ten years after his accident he’s starting to occasionally resemble the old Noctis again. And, of course, he also knows if he tries to lecture right now, nothing he says will be heard and he’ll have to deal with a hungover _and_ sulky prince tomorrow.

“I don’t have school anymore,” Noctis says, out of nowhere, nearly too quiet to be heard over the air rushing through Prompto’s open window. “That used to make me feel normal, kind of.”

“I know,” Ignis says.

“I hate going to council meetings.”

“I know.”

“I hate reading the reports.”

“I know.”

Noctis sighs like he’s determined to flush every last molecule of air out of his lungs. “You’re supposed to remind me about duty, and transition, and stuff.”

“I’m off the clock right now. And it’s not as if I _enjoy_ seeing you miserable.”

“I know,” Noctis says, quiet and serious; it’s not what Ignis expected, not a joke about his devotion to duty or the iron hand with which he manages Noctis’ life. Prompto shouts at a car going by, waves so violently Ignis is a bit concerned he’ll shake himself right out the window, and Noctis catches sight of him in the rearview mirror and smiles.

Noctis is quiet for the rest of the drive, until Ignis is idling in front of his building trying to weigh seeing the boys upstairs to ensure sure they’re settled against getting home faster.

“Do you think I could go back to having Gladio as my guard a couple times a week? I know he doesn’t do the regular rotation stuff anymore, but he - I wouldn’t have to sneak out, he’s cool with whatever.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ignis says, as if it would take anything more than mentioning it to Gladio and letting him work it out. 

“Cool,” Noct says, and finally uncurls himself so he can stumble out of the car. “Thanks.”

He closes the door without another word; Ignis watches him pull Prompto up from the sidewalk, buzz him through the front door, and slip around the side of the building to warp up to his window.

*

Both the dishwasher and dryer are running when Ignis gets back, insulating the apartment in a layer of white noise Ignis always enjoys falling asleep to. The lights are low in the bedroom, just the lamp over one side of the bed on so Gladio can read. He holds his finger up to preemptively shush Ignis, which should be annoying but just makes Ignis warm all over from fondness. Ignis changes into his pajamas in silence, and by the time he slips into bed Gladio’s finished the important part and put his book aside.

“Everything good?”

“Mostly.”

Gladio quirks an eyebrow, and Ignis sighs.

“Noct and Prompto are home safe and sound, no harm done. I’m just - it’s been a long night.”

Gladio doesn’t bother telling Ignis he could have said no, could have called for an official escort and let Noctis deal with his own consequences. Ignis isn’t sure he’s come to _like_ the way Ignis chooses to handle Noct, but they’ve at least reached the point where he respects it. He does lift his arm so Ignis can roll against his side, soak up all his excess warmth after the chill of the late-night air.

“We used to be friends,” Ignis says, eventually, after a long enough comfortable silence Gladio’s started reading again. He doesn’t respond right away, silent while he moves his bookmark and puts his novel aside for the night.

“Something happen?”

“Nothing specific.” He texted Gladio when he was having fun, called Ignis when he needed a babysitter. That feels petulant, though, so Ignis leaves it unsaid.

“Iggy.”

“It’s really nothing, Gladio, I’m just in a bit of a mood tonight.”

“The blue balls,” Gladio says, in a voice eerily similar to Clarus’ when he brings up a hard truth in a council meeting. “They’ll get you every time.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Gladio grins, because he knows exactly why, but lets it drop and simply leans in so Ignis can reach when he pushes up for a goodnight kiss. Gladio’s lips are soft and the way he sighs melts some of the tension out of Ignis’ shoulders. Someday Ignis will ask how he does it, see if he can bottle it for those afternoons he feels like he might snap in two. 

Glasses in their place on the nightstand, Ignis in his place against Gladio’s side, Gladio in his place picking his book back up, Ignis starts to drift off to sleep, warm and slow and easy. Gladio turns his light off, eventually, settles in to spoon against Ignis, arm warm and comforting over Ignis’ hips. 

“Noct’s in a really good place with his combat training,” Gladio says, breath ghosting over his ear. It takes Ignis a bit to shake off the fog, wake himself up enough to grasp complicated things like words.

“Is he?”

“Mmhm. So I’ve been going easy on him, letting him fool around a little, figure out some tricks or whatever.”

“Can we discuss your training methods in the morning?”

“If you need me to be a hardass again, go all Bad Cop on him, I can do that.”

Ignis takes a moment, lets his sleep-addled brain process the thought as slowly as it needs, because it doesn’t quite make sense to him right away. He doesn’t criticize Gladio’s training methods anymore, didn’t do it all that much anyway, so - oh.

“You don’t need to jeopardize your relationship for my bruised ego.”

“I don’t mind,” Gladio says.

Ignis is too tired to think of the right thing to say to such an immense offer presented so casually, so he settles for pushing back a little, as close to Gladio as he can possibly get, and clutching Gladio’s arm as he finally falls asleep.


End file.
